


Snapshot of a Crisis

by Insomnia_in_Portland



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe- Alternate Russia, Czarina!Natasha, Gen, Hero!Darcy, Micro-crossover with the X-Men Universe, Prince!Bucky, Servant!Pietro, Servant!Wanda, Taser!Darcy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 04:48:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9219587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Insomnia_in_Portland/pseuds/Insomnia_in_Portland
Summary: In a Russia consumed by a war, a lost hero waits.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Hope 2017 is treating you well.
> 
> Here's another bit with Taser!Darcy. This takes place in one of the many universes she gets transported to. This happens to be a Russia where Natasha and Bucky are having a "disagreement."

Darcy tapped her fingertips against the rough tabletop. She shot a look at the massive clock on the wall across from her. The time was noon exactly. Brow furrowing, her eyes dropped to the open doorway below the clock. The grand doors, glinting merrily on the light, had been thrown wide open on her orders. Darcy had a relatively good view of the windowed corridor running directly down from her and the hall crossing it.

She sighed, leaning back in her chair. Ideally, this was not the way she wanted to handle this. Hell, she did not want to handle this. This was not her country or her world (regardless of the fact she had been trapped here for 23 years). She would have loved to leave the warring factions to wipe each other out. They frankly deserved it. Alas, their stupidity had forced to her intervene. Now, here she was, waiting for the arrival of the Czarina and the Rebel.

As Lady Rasputin explained, the war was a crisis of succession gone haywire. The old Romanov Czar had died without deciding who would succeed him. Two candidates soon emerged as likely leaders. The first was his adopted son. This version of James Barnes was a popular and decorated war hero. He long expected to be the next Czar as he had gained great favor with his father, many prominent officials, and nobles. He was a dangerous man to ignore as he also had the backing of several military officers and their units. 

The second was the Duchess. This version of Natalia Romanov was one of the Czar’s illegitimate children. She was also one of the few acknowledged and given proper due. No man wished to court her as she was considered intimidating and frigid. Her beauty was not enough to gain any potential suitor. They found her disdain and insults too hard to take. She cared little. Natasha devoted her time to worthier causes. She was popular among the people as an education and health advocate. The religious counted her as an ally. Finally, like the other Natalias/Natashas Darcy had encountered, the Duchess was fond of the arts. She was frequent attendee of the opera and symphony. Her patronage of many artists enabled them to rise from obscurity to popularity. Unfortunately, her good work never endeared her to the political elites. Many officials and nobles criticized her for forgetting her place. 

Logically, the crown would have gone to Prince James. He had the popularity and favor of the right people. Not only that, he was a seasoned warrior. The country even expected to hear of his coronation. It was not to be. To this day, there were a multitude of tales as to why James was denied the crown. The most prominent was that an enemy of his cited an old law about adopted children. Said law stated no adopted child could become ruler. Regardless of the reason, Duchess Natasha became Czarina of Russia. James was not pleased. 

Not. Pleased. At. All.

In his fury, the Prince became the Rebel. He set up a breakaway state, declaring himself the RIGHTFUL ruler of Russia. His supporters expected him to crush Natasha easily. What no one realized was that Natasha was not a pushover. To her, the crown belonged to a proper Romanov, not an outsider. She would keep it at all costs. Their mutual determination led to a years-long war that consumed all of Russia. Enough of a power vacuum opened to allow others to make plays for rule. (A terrorist group called Omega Red was so far the most successful. They managed to get all of St. Petersburg under their control. Strangely, it was now the only place in Russia where citizens could enjoy some peace.) Attempts to forge peace all failed.

Well, until Darcy decided to intervene.

Now here she was, waiting for the Czarina and Rebel to arrive so she could try to wallop some sense into them. She kept her focus on their actions, ignoring the looming ramifications of her intervention. If it meant terrorizing two very powerful people, then so be it. She glanced at the clock again. It was barely 12:05.

Sighing, she decided to get up and walk around. Her stomach grumbled thoughtfully. She looked around and found the table she sought. It was a round cedar table standing proudly against the wall. It, her chair, 6 other chairs, and the ornate table they graced were the only pieces of furniture in the room. The round was covered with four dull silver trays. One held an assortment of fine cups and saucers. Two were laden with small rolls, tea cakes, and cookies. The final served as a coaster for a large crystal punch bowl halfway filled with something crisply pink. Darcy leaned down and took a sniff. It smelled sweetly citrus. She looked around for a ladle, but found none.

“Oh well,” she muttered. She plucked a small white cup, scooped up some of the liquid, and brought it to her lips for a sip. It turned out to be a sparkling punch. Darcy downed it in a few gulps, her throat enjoying the much-needed refreshment.

Grabbing a gold saucer, Darcy seized a handful of tea cakes. She popped one into her mouth and moaned gratefully. It was one of Wanda’s signature lemon creations. The maid and her brother were the only two members of the palace staff who remained. Everyone else fled the city. Despite her pleas that they leave, both Wanda and Pietro chose to stay. Darcy’s stomach gave an uncomfortable lurch. She knew they were staying because she was the only protection they had.

Shaking her head, she began a circuit around the room. Her legs and behind, stiff from sitting, took a moment to move normally. Darcy popped another cake into her mouth. She looked at the room as she strode around. She assumed it was a grand space in the yesteryears of normalcy. It was a large, rectangular space with elegant arches running the length of the back wall. What it really looked like was left to her imagination. Unlike the other rooms in the palace, it has escaped destruction from artillery fire and arson. The row of dirty windows along the back wall remained intact. Yet it did not escape completely unscathed. Whatever had adorned the floor, walls, arches, and even the ceiling were gone. All that was left was a room of stone and tiny hints of gold and scarlet. 

Darcy popped another cake into her mouth. The tangy kiss of lemon reminded her of other issues. Though she and the Maximoffs were the only ones in the palace, even they had to be mindful of their stores. The nearby river fed wells that supplied the palace with a steady supply of water. Darcy often ventured out to ensure no idiots dared disturb the river. Her lips quirked up when the memory of Pietro and Wanda’s coronaries came to mind. Both had been horrified when Darcy ventured miles away to the river’s headwaters on inspection. Her amusement was brief. The lingering lemon reminded her food was a problem.

She could not fault Pietro and Wanda for devouring a lot of the remaining food. Pietro explained it was the only way to use things before they spoiled. Neither, though, fought Darcy’s order that they start saving the remaining stores. Creativity was used to preserve, save, and extend. Unfortunately, attempts to add to their stores failed. The city around the palace was in ruins.

She lazily strode to the round table, loaded up on cookies, and walked to the windows. Stopping by one, she studied the grime upon it. It was a thick, smoky smear that obscured most of the pane. She leaned close and tried to peak out a small spot near the side. Nothing was visible save more grime. She popped another cake into her mouth.

A sound had her straightening. She tilted her head and listened. Though distant, she heard something clacking rapidly outside. It took her moment to realize it was steadily coming in her direction. She made her way back to the table. The sound was coming closer, echoing in the wide hall outside. Darcy made it to the table in time to see a black blur zoom past the doorway. She caught enough of a glimpse of silver to know who it was.

“Pietro!” she bellowed.

The clacking stopped further down the hall. It then started up back in her direction. This time, Pietro slowed down enough to find where she was. Darcy watched him come to a shrieking halt in the doorway. Bewilderment filled her. Pietro was utterly soaked. His hair clung to his flushed face while his white shirt and old breeches clung to his lithe form. He bent, bracing his hands on his knees. His gasps were deep. Darcy laid her saucer on the table.

“What happened?”

Pietro looked up. The look on his face had Darcy striding toward him.

“What happened!” she demanded.

Pietro straightened. Still gasping for breath, he reached into the pocket of his breeches and pulled something out. He held it out to Darcy. She saw it was a small, gilded red envelope. Her heart dropped. Only Lady Rasputin used it. Gulping, Darcy plucked the envelope out of Pietro’s hand.

Pietro watched Darcy open the envelope. He knew full well how she would react. This was something she did not need today of all days. His eyes fell upon the cream sheet now unfolded. He took a step back. Darcy paid no mind, focusing on the sheet in her hand. He studied her as she read. It really was a pity. Darcy looked quite spiffy in her attire. She wore a sapphire-blue greatcoat with gold epaulettes, loose white trousers, and high black boots polished to perfection. The coat complemented her complexion nicely. Wanda did up her hair into a prim braided bun. No makeup meant a fresh-face, but Darcy looked fine. It was just a pity.

Pietro watched Darcy’s eyes narrow. He gulped. She looked up, her face placid. He gulped again.

“Did I read this right?” she asked calmly.

Pietro did not dare speak. He just nodded.

Darcy nodded, humming. She folded the sheet, slid it back into the envelope, and dropped it. Pietro watched her turn heel and walk back into the room. He cringed when she uttered a roar.

“ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?! ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!”

Pietro stayed silent.

“OUT OF ALL THE STUPID FUCKING THINGS HE COULD HAVE DONE! OOOOOOOOOHHHHHHH, THAT FUCKING PEA-BRAINED SON OF A NUTCRACKING WHORE-MONKEY BASTARD! HE KNEW BETTER! HE FUCKING KNEW BETTER! THAT FUCKING BITCH DIDN’T EVEN FUCKING TRY!”

Darcy fell silent, gasping furiously. She took several deep breaths to calm herself. The words of the letter played through her mind. If that was how this was going to go, so be it!

Darcy turned and marched to the door. “Come along, Pietro.”

“M’lady,” he squeaked.

“We’re going to the Armory. Go find Wanda and tell her to bring the gunpowder. It’s time to bust that bitch open!”

Pietro stepped aside when Darcy blew past him in the hall. He watched her march furiously down the hall for a moment before calling out, “What are you going to do?”

Darcy stopped. She looked over her shoulder and flashed Pietro a slightly crazed grin.

“They want a war! I’m gonna give ‘em a war!”

Pietro made a little squeaking noise before scrambling after her. This was not good.

Not good at all.


End file.
